Grace of the Goddess (The Death Dealer Book 3) (8 page)

Moore nodded his understanding. “Can you name any enemies he has?”

“When he was a rusher at the Emerald, he broke a lot of fingers and skulls.” She eyed the scar under Moore’s eye.

He’d gotten it busting up a brawl at the Emerald Tavern, and it could very well have been given to him by Jack. Moore touched the scar and pursed his lips. A lot of other men had gotten hurt in Emerald brawls, and Ridley knew some were even damaged beyond repair. How many of them blamed Jack for doing his job and breaking up fights?

A few guards came out of the guardhouse. They eyed Ridley suspiciously, but moved on when they saw their captain standing next to her. Ridley realized she’d stayed too long. “I should be off home, Captain.”

“Can you meet me in the morning at the King’s Beard?”

Two meals in a week at the guard’s tavern?
Ridley thought.
I may as well stop cutting purses and take up the guardsmen uniform.
Out loud she said, “I suppose, but what can you find out in a night?”

“Never you mind. I will let you know what I find out in the morning.”

Ridley turned to leave, but stopped herself and looked over her shoulder at Moore. “Thank you.” She hurried up the street before he could respond.

While she was talking to Moore, the sun sank behind the horizon completely. It grew colder by the minute and she just wanted to get home to enjoy the warmth of the hearth. She also wanted to get to Marcus before the rumors of her visit got out of control.

Word would arrive ahead of her that she was seen talking to Captain Moore. The first messenger would say that. The next would say she pulled a knife on him, then he pulled a knife on her, then they made love passionately in the street. It was just the way rumors spread around the Lane. Ridley picked up her pace. Marcus wouldn’t believe the tall tales brought to him, but he wouldn’t be happy about her seeing Moore either. She had to get home and explain.

The Lane was alive with light. Most couldn’t afford to light their homes all night, but many kept some candles burning for the first hour after nightfall. If they wanted more light to read or game by, they went to a tavern. Ridley liked the first hour after dark. There was something beautiful about all the little candles or hearth fires that filled the windows with light, each providing a warm glow for passersby.

The street was empty for the most part. A few bent men passed by, tired after a long day at work. A few couples stepped out of their homes, hands locked, heading to a dance hall, no doubt. But for most of her journey, Ridley was alone. Then she noticed a stopped cart ahead of her with a cloaked figure standing by, talking to the driver.

The cloaked figure stepped into Ridley’s path as she moved to pass. He had his hood drawn up, but Ridley could make out a bushy beard in the shadows of the hood. “Excuse me miss, but I heard you were looking for Jack Anders?”

His voice was gravelly and she didn’t recognize it, although she doubted this man served Marcus. None of his underlings would dare to block Ridley’s path. She glanced up at the cart driver to see if he was someone she knew. He was bald and a mountain of a man. A man so large would be easy to remember, but Ridley couldn’t place him. The cloaked man snapped his fingers in her face to get her attention.

“I asked you a question.”

“Shove off,” she said. Again, she tried to move past.

This time the man grabbed her arm. He pulled it behind her back with one hand and covered her mouth with his other hand. With her free hand, she dug her nails into the hand that covered her mouth. He sucked in air and tightened his grip on her arm. Ridley let him go and reached for one of her blades, right as she opened her mouth and bit down on his palm. He still held on. Ridley bit down harder until the metallic taste of blood touched her tongue. She’d broken his skin and he still held on, tighter every second. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt of her belt knife. The cold metal felt natural in her hands.

“Gillam!” the cloaked man snapped. “Get down here!”

The carter jumped down and took hold of Ridley, knife now in hand. She tried to slash at him, but he grabbed hold of her hand and bent her index and middle fingers back. She screamed through the cloaked man’s hand and blood, and the knife fell from her grasp. The one called Gillam kicked her weapon away from the scuffle while the cloaked man dragged her backwards. Ridley dug her heels into the dirt.

“Gillam…” the man said again. He sounded impatient.

“Right, sir.” Gillam grabbed Ridley’s feet. She tried to kick him, but he firmly gripped her ankles. “Miss, do you want the same for your feet as you got for your hand?”

Ridley went still, not wanting a broken ankle. The two men carried her to the cart and dropped her in the back. The cloaked man climbed in and kept his hand over her mouth. Gillam first tied her feet together, and then tied her hands behind her back. All the while, Ridley screamed through the cloaked man’s hand. She screamed every curse word she knew. She screamed for help. Her voice was muffled, but if just one person got close enough to the cart, they would hear her.

Gillam ran around the cart and got back up in the driver’s seat while Ridley continued her string of muffled curses. The cart lurched forward. Ridley’s fingers ached and she wanted to spit out the blood in her mouth, but the man held firm. She’d given up biting him. His hand must have been made of a bleeding stone.

“Calm yourself. You wanted to find Anders, I’m taking you to Anders.”

Five

              Jack remembered Gillam from his childhood. The man was all hard muscle, height, and strength; the human equivalent of a draft horse for Duke Robert of Escion. He wasn’t exactly bright, but he did everything Robert asked and that made him incredibly valuable. Make sure the mistress is well paid off? Gillam did it. Mule died in the fields? Gillam would take up the plow. Put a bag over Robert’s eldest son’s head and cart him across Glenbard in the dark? Gillam made sure Jack had the itchiest bag over his head.

              The two men sat alone in a personal library. Jack guessed they were probably in the old castle, maybe in the library of one of the four remaining magistrates. Before Gillam removed the bag, Jack heard the bells from the temple of Ciro, ringing loud and clear. They weren't the large bells of Kamaria's temple. They only rang so clear on Golden Road, and unless Robert bought his own private chamber in the temple dormitories, they could only be at the castle.

              Jack read from one of the tomes that detailed histories of the Cesernan monarchy while torches blazed with light and a fire roared in the stone fireplace on the far wall. Jack would have liked to sit closer. His fingers were cold and they could do with a bit of warmth from the fire, but Gillam had tied his ankle to a chair on the far side of the room, as far from that glorious fire as was possible.

              “Gillam?” Jack asked when the silence had stretched on for too long. The men had sat for hours, saying absolutely nothing.

              The burly man cleaned his fingernails with the tip of his dagger. He looked up, gray eyes dull, placid stupidity painted on his face. “Yes, Jack?”

              “Remember when you used to help me climb into the apple trees in my father’s orchard?”

“I told ya, the sweetest apples grew on the top branches.” He rubbed his bald head.

“I miss those days, Gillam.”

“Aye, me too, Jack.” Gillam lowered his eyes. Poor man was so entirely owned by Robert, he didn’t know how to refuse even the cruelest of demands. Jack shook his head and returned to his book.

Time continued to stretch on. Jack felt like he was being dragged into the gaping maw of a beast; a beast named Robert Mullery. His head eventually began to sag, his eyelids growing heavy. He didn’t know how long he dozed, but he woke with a start when the door to the library opened.

Robert stood there with a bandage over his hand, and for one wild moment, Jack hoped a wild dog had bitten him. “Rise, boy,” his father instructed.

Not one to ever argue with his father, Jack rose, tugging the chair along with him. Robert nodded to Gillam and the brute got up and left quietly. Robert said nothing, but silently appraised Jack. “He is as ready as he will ever be, Your Majesty,” he finally said, although they still appeared to be alone.

Your Majesty?
Jack thought, and on instinct, he knelt. If the king was here, he didn’t want to appear disrespectful. The cold from the stone floor penetrated his clothes and he shuddered involuntarily. He kept his head bent, but heard the rustling of clothing as it dragged along the stones and King Frederick swept into the room. He smelled ale and lavender waft in with the king’s entrance.

“Rise, Sir Jonathan of Escion,” the king said.

Jack rose and took in the king. He was of medium height, entirely gray with age, and scowling. He wore a red cloak lined with ermine fur, black hose, and a white shirt. Like Jack’s father, he tried to blend in, but failed miserably. “It is good to see you well, given your time spent in this cesspool.” Frederick sat in Gillam’s recently vacated chair. “Please, sit.”

Jack sat, but Robert remained standing. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Your Majesty?”

“As you know, Duke Brayden has met with an untimely end. Lord Gregory is a fitting replacement, but we are still in need of a fifth magistrate. You were once a fine knight, groomed to be a fine duke for Escion.”

“Until that woman ruined you,” Robert growled. His eyes bored into Jack.

“Keep your peace, Robby. Your son has learned his lesson, I think. You are not so fallen, Jonathan, that you cannot come back.”

“Am I to infer, Your Majesty, that you want me to be the fifth city magistrate? Magistrate Jonathan Mullery of Escion?” He tried it out. The title, the very idea, left a bad taste in his mouth. He’d left the life of a noble behind him a long time ago, and he was in no rush to return to it.

Robert glared at him and Jack recognized the look of angered disappointment that flared in his father’s eyes. He had seen it often enough. “You would be a fool to turn this down.”

Frederick continued, ignoring Robert. “It would be an excellent opportunity for you to regain some of your lost honor and prestige.”

              “With all due respect, Your Majesty, I am fine without my lost honor and prestige.”

              Frederick smiled at him, though it wasn’t a kind smile. It was mocking and it never reached his eyes, as though it were impossible to imagine a man who didn’t want the life of a nobleman. Frederick folded his hands in his lap and shook his head. “You may name your price. What will I need to offer to see you in the seat of power?”

              “My price?”

              “Of course, though you will be expected to vote on matters in the way I deem necessary.” Jack’s eyes widened. He knew the game Frederick played now. “And I will only deem things that are in the city and the country’s best interest.”

              My price? My bribe, more like
, Jack thought. “It is a crime to bribe a magistrate.” What was it Ridley said about Duke Brayden’s last words? ‘No one was above the law’, or something.

              “Nonsense. That only applies to upstart nobles who seek to stage a coup in the city, or merchants who wish to get away with murder.” Frederick waved his hand, as though waving away Jack’s comment.

              “I don’t think I would be well suited to the post, Your Majesty. I am but a humble guardsman these days. I am no longer a knight, no longer a duke’s heir.”

              Frederick looked up at Robert and nodded, and then the duke leaned out of the door and called, “Gillam!”

              “I believe you should consider this proposal carefully before saying no,” Frederick said.

              From outside the room, a woman screamed, followed by a grunt from Gillam and the sound of shuffling in the corridor. It sounded like the woman was being dragged along, but from the sound of Gillam’s strained grunting and the scraping of boots on stone, she had enough sense to put up a fight. Jack’s mind immediately went to Grace. He looked again at his father’s bandaged hand and hoped she had bit him.

              It wasn’t Grace who Gillam had a hold of when he came back to the room; instead, it was Ridley he held by the hair. Her hands were bound but she was still fighting. She landed a few kicks on Gillam’s shins, but the man held her firmly. Her hair was matted and tangled, hanging wildly in her eyes. Her face was drained of color, but dried blood smeared her chin and the front of her shirt. She had bitten Robert, and Jack found that he was as proud as a mother bird.

              Gillam held Ridley at arm’s length as she snapped and swore, trying to kick him again. Robert produced a dagger and turned it slowly in his hand. As Jack caught his eyes, a rage he buried long ago awakened. He thought it died when he left court, disgraced and stripped of his titles, but now it roared to life; a flame that engulfed his insides.

              “She’s just a girl,” Jack said. His voice shook as he tried to suppress his anger. He clenched his fists and dug his nails into his palms. They would have been wise to bind him, too.

              “But she’s your friend,” Robert said as he wiped the blade across his trouser leg. It glimmered into the torch light. “First that tramp, then that witch, and now a thief! Have you no standards in women?”

              “Better a thief than that Hilren witch,” Frederick added with a yawn.

              Jack’s vision faltered. He saw only his father, clouded in red. How dare they threaten his friend and speak of Grace in such flippant tones! They were men trained in the sword, but Jack knew how to brawl. He could use the chair he was tied to and take both of them out at the same time. Gillam would be a different story. By the time Jack saw to Robert and Frederick, Gillam would be on him, or worse, he would do something to Ridley.

              “Name your price,” Frederick said again.

              “Jack, what are they talking about?” Ridley cried in terror. Through the veil of hair, he saw wide-eyed fear.

              Jack didn’t say anything. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He could feel his face getting hot as the rage spread.

“Sir Jonathan,” Frederick coaxed.

              “
Sir?
” Ridley whispered hoarsely, unbelieving.

              Robert took a step toward Ridley. “You might reclaim some lost honor, and perhaps even find your way back into my good graces.”

              “Damn your good graces!” Jack bellowed. “Let. Her.
Go
!”

Jack didn’t let the chair hinder his movements. He dashed forward, the chair clattering along behind him. He turned and grabbed the chair, bringing it forward in one fluid motion. Robert turned to avoid the blow, but still took the hit to his shoulder. The dagger clattered to the floor, but Robert only grunted in pain and stumbled backward, grabbing his shoulder. Frederick fell out of his chair trying to get away. However, once the chair hit his lord, Gillam threw Ridley to the ground and yanked the chair from Jack. Still tied to the chair, Jack fell backwards and landed with a thump on the ground.

The wind escaped Jack’s lungs as Gillam let the chair fall on him, eliciting an “oof” from Jack. Jack felt most of his rage subside as he struggled to get a breath. Only a white hot ember remained.

Frederick stood over him with a calm face, despite everything. “Is that your price? Freedom for the girl?”

“That,” Jack wheezed, “and she comes under my protection. As long as I do your bidding, Ridley is safe. Safe from you, safe from the guards, safe from Gillam, and my father cannot so much as speak her name.”

“Robert, Gillam – leave.” Jack heard retreating footsteps and then the closing of a door as Frederick spoke. He turned his head to the side to see Ridley huddled in the corner closest to the door, with a foot over Robert’s dagger. With her hands bound it wasn’t much use, but at least she had it instead of his father.

“And?” Frederick prompted. “Do you wish for anything else?”

“May I think on that, Your Majesty?” Jack propped himself up onto his elbows.

Frederick nodded. “I suspect you can cut your bonds and hers, however, you are to stay here until your promotion has been announced. The girl may stay or go as she pleases. Her safety will be guaranteed.”

“Forgive me if I don’t bow, Majesty,” Jack said. Frederick rolled his eyes and swept out of the library with a flourish.

Jack got to his feet and dragged himself, with the chair, over to Ridley. He picked up the dagger and bid her turn around.

He squatted down, balancing on the balls of his feet. She glared at him, but still shuffled so he could cut the rope around her wrists. Two of the fingers on her right hand were swollen and red, bent in an unnatural way.

“I see Gillam saw to your hand,” said Jack.

He cut through her bonds, but once Ridley’s hands were free, she elbowed him in the nose. Jack fell backwards, landing awkwardly on the chair’s legs. The wood dug into his back and caused a sharp pain to snake along his spine. His eyes watered and he rubbed his spine.

“
Sir Jonathan
?!” she exclaimed, rising to her feet and seething with anger. “Who is Sir Jonathan?”

She towered over him. Her left hand was in a fist, but she kept her right hand loose at her side. Her shadow fell over him, eclipsing the torchlight.

“Who are you?”

Jack adjusted himself and went to work trying to free his foot from the chair. “I am
Jack Anders.”

“Who
were
you?” she amended, her voice icy.

“Sir Jonathan of Escion.” He inspected the rope. Ridley’s bindings were cloth, easier to cut through. Gillam had tied him with rope, sturdy rope like they used for riggings, and he had used one of the complex knots sailors used. “I am no longer, and I have been quite happy that way.”

Ridley plopped down to sit across from him and drummed the fingers of her good hand on the stone wall. She cradled her wounded hand to her chest. “I can straighten those for you,” he said. “I’ve done it for enough people at the Emerald.”

“First, tell me more.” Her voice dropped to a growl. “And how is it that no one knew this?”

“Unlike dear, sweet Grace, I did not proclaim my folly from the rooftops. I took to the sea on a trade ship for a while until my scandal died down, then I came to Glenbard with a new name.” He set to work cutting the rope free of the chair so he could begin to unknot it from his ankle.

“What did you do?”

“A young lady from Sera claimed I stole some jewels and attempted to force myself on her. Her family called for my head. Instead, I was thrown into exile only because of my father’s good name.”